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The Town Poor
by
“That would be their way,” said Rebecca Wright. “They never was any hand to complain, though Mandy’s less cheerful than Ann. If Mandy ‘d been spared such poor eyesight, an’ Ann hadn’t got her lame wrist that wa’n’t set right, they’d kep’ off the town fast enough. They both shed tears when they talked to me about havin’ to break up, when I went to see ’em before I went over to brother Asa’s. You see we was brought up neighbors, an’ we went to school together, the Brays an’ me. ‘T was a special Providence brought us home this road, I’ve been so covetin’ a chance to git to see ’em. My lameness hampers me.”
“I’m glad we come this way, myself,” said Mrs. Trimble.
“I’d like to see just how they fare,” Miss Rebecca Wright continued. “They give their consent to goin’ on the town because they knew they’d got to be dependent, an’ so they felt ‘t would come easier for all than for a few to help ’em. They acted real dignified an’ right-minded, contrary to what most do in such cases, but they was dreadful anxious to see who would bid ’em off, town-meeting day; they did so hope ‘t would be somebody right in the village. I just sat down an’ cried good when I found Abel Janes’s folks had got hold of ’em. They always had the name of bein’ slack an’ poor-spirited, an’ they did it just for what they got out o’ the town. The selectmen this last year ain’t what we have had. I hope they’ve been considerate about the Bray girls.”
“I should have be’n more considerate about fetchin’ of you over,” apologized Mrs. Trimble. “I’ve got my horse, an’ you’re lame-footed; ’tis too far for you to come. But time does slip away with busy folks, an’ I forgit a good deal I ought to remember.”
“There’s nobody more considerate than you be,” protested Miss Rebecca Wright.
Mrs. Trimble made no answer, but took out her whip and gently touched the sorrel horse, who walked considerably faster, but did not think it worth while to trot. It was a long, round-about way to the house, farther down the road and up a lane.
“I never had any opinion of the Bray girls’ father, leavin’ ’em as he did,” said Mrs. Trimble.
“He was much praised in his time, though there was always some said his early life hadn’t been up to the mark,” explained her companion. “He was a great favorite of our then preacher, the Reverend Daniel Longbrother. They did a good deal for the parish, but they did it their own way. Deacon Bray was one that did his part in the repairs without urging. You know ‘t was in his time the first repairs was made, when they got out the old soundin’-board an’ them handsome square pews. It cost an awful sight o’ money, too. They hadn’t done payin’ up that debt when they set to alter it again an’ git the walls frescoed. My grandmother was one that always spoke her mind right out, an’ she was dreadful opposed to breakin’ up the square pews where she’d always set. They was countin’ up what ‘t would cost in parish meetin’, an’ she riz right up an’ said ‘t wouldn’t cost nothin’ to let ’em stay, an’ there wa’n’t a house carpenter left in the parish that could do such nice work, an’ time would come when the great-grandchildren would give their eye-teeth to have the old meetin’-house look just as it did then. But haul the inside to pieces they would and did.”
“There come to be a real fight over it, didn’t there?” agreed Mrs. Trimble soothingly. “Well, ‘t wa’n’t good taste. I remember the old house well. I come here as a child to visit a cousin o’ mother’s, an’ Mr. Trimble’s folks was neighbors, an’ we was drawed to each other then, young’s we was. Mr. Trimble spoke of it many’s the time,–that first time he ever see me, in a leghorn hat with a feather; ‘t was one that mother had, an’ pressed over.”